Unexpected: Weekly Photo Challenge

"Munchkin Village"My daughter discovered this unexpected “Munchkin Village” in our backyard last spring.    There’s so much beauty in the imagination of a child!

This photo reminds me of something Henry David Thoreau once wrote,

“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”

This post is a response to the Weekly Photo Challenge: Unexpected.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Layers

Photo taken in Nepal
September 2013

When the Weekly Photo Challenge theme Layers was announced today, I immediately thought of a series of photos I recently took in  Nepal of dancers performing a traditional dance.  It was mesmerizing to watch them, their colorful costumes so rich in detail and contrast, their bodies flowing gracefully through the complicated dance steps.  These young Nepali dancers produced gorgeous layers of color and movement that these photographs cannot truly capture.

I couldn’t decide which photo to use for the Challenge, but I did succeed in narrowing it down to two.

Which photo would you have picked?

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Nepal, September 2013

The Regular

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Order up! Beauty’s Specials at Beauty’s Luncheonette in Montreal

“I’ve been coming here since the beginning,” he said conspiratorially, leaning towards me from the stool next to mine.

I had noticed the white haired gentleman earlier, as he was shouldering his way through the Sunday brunch crowd at Beauty’s Luncheonette.  He took a seat on the chrome-and-blue pleather stool next to me. As he carefully placed his folded Montreal Gazette on the formica countertop, he caught the server’s eye.  “Hi hon!” she sang out as she filled his coffee cup.

He didn’t even have to place his order.  In a matter of minutes, “the usual” was set in front of him.  Side of home fries, black coffee, and a Beauty’s Russian Black Special.  Most people who come to Beauty’s get the Beauty’s Special – smoked salmon, cream cheese, tomato, and onion on the infamous Montreal sesame bagel.  But The Regular clearly prefers the Special on on a Russian rye bread so black that  it looks like it is made of dark chocolate.

“You’ve been coming here since 1942?” I asked.

“Sure, I went to high school just down the street. I used to buy my school supplies here back when it was a stationary shop.   There was always a poker game going on back in the back room.”

He pointed towards an open door behind the kitchen to a small room where they now store the mops and brooms and cleaning supplies.  (You can see it in the background of the photo above.)

“They won’t tell you THAT in the history.”

He gestured vaguely towards the blue and white menu, which contains a detailed history of Beauty’s.  How newlyweds Hymie and Freda Sckolnick bought the shop on the corner of Mont Royal and St. Urbain and started serving lunch to the garment workers from the  factories in the neighborhood.  The name “Beauty” came from Hymie’s bowling nickname.  It grew so popular that the workers started bringing their families on the weekend.  “And the Montreal brunch was born,”  to quote the menu.  Indeed, there was no mention of the poker game in the back room.

“I’m in my 80s,” he confided, “so Hymie must be into his 90s.  You met him when you came in, right?”

I had indeed met Hymie.  He was guarding the door when we arrived – literally standing in the inner doorway and quizzing the groups of Montreal hipsters queued up outside.  Since we only had two in our party, we scored an immediate seating at the lunch counter. “I like American money,”  Hymie told me as he resettled, ever vigilant, on his perch by the door.

“Hymie opened up this morning,” The Regular told me.  “That’s the son, Larry.”  He waved dismissively at a white-haired man with black frame glasses who was dashing about with a pot of coffee. “He just showed up now.”

We talked for a few minutes.  He told me how he grew up to be a lawyer and a politician.  He represented the neighborhood for a number of years before returning to private practice.  He lives downtown now, but he made it very clear that he is not retired.

“What’s your practice area?” I asked.  Corporate, I thought.

“Immigration,” he said.  “There’s always work and it’s interesting.”

“I know,” I said.  “I’m a human rights lawyer at a non-profit, but I started out practicing asylum law.  We always look to Canada as the better asylum system.  Even now in the debate about immigration reform, we are using Canada as the example of why we should provide counsel for indigent asylum seekers.”

“Well,” he replied, “It was a hell of a lot better before the Conservatives took over.  Now I’m not sure we’re a model for anyone anymore.”

As he paid his bill and gathered up his car keys and his black leather gloves, he asked, “What are you going to do today?”

“We’re thinking of going up to the top of Mont-Royal.”

“Mount Royal?  How are you going to get there? Do you have a car?”

“No, we’re planning to bike,” I said.

He looked at me for a few seconds, as if assessing whether I was truly insane.  Then he moved on.

“Well, you’re going to want to go to Schwartz’s Deli, so here’s a tip. Don’t bother with the line.  Go across the street to Main Deli.  It’s just as good, but without the wait.   We call it “smoked meat” here.   There’s no such thing as “pastrami” here in Canada,” he said emphatically.

“Thanks for the tip,” I said.  As a vegetarian, my interest in cured meat – whatever you call it – is minimal.

It struck me later that, based on the facts that he dropped,  I could easily pin a name and full bio on this guy.  It would just take a couple of quick internet searches.  But I have not chosen to do that.

As he said good-bye, I felt I had been privileged with a small glimpse into not just a life, but also into a unique time and place and people in this city’s history.  I saw in a flash the habits of a lifetime, traces of a distinctive community.  The institution of Beauty’s Luncheonette will certainly continue, but someday in the relatively near future it will be without Hymie and the others who were there from the beginning.  On this, my first visit to Montreal, The Regular had given me a rare, small gift.

He put on his long, black wool coat and headed for the door, threading his way through throngs of young people – young people  of all races and backgrounds, chatting energetically and switching effortlessly between French and English.  In the midst of this microcosm of contemporary Montreal, The Regular turned back, eyes twinkling, and winked at me.

“My wife is in Florida.  Don’t tell her I was here.”

Les Fantômes de Montréal (The Ghosts of Montreal)

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Rue Saint-Paul in Vieux-Montréal

Growing up in south Louisiana, I couldn’t help but develop a healthy respect for the paranormal.  So when I landed in Montréal last week on the Day of The Dead, my thoughts naturally turned to the eerie possibility of fantômes ( French for ghosts).   The early November weather was grey and damp and chilly, making it seem even more plausible that there were haunted souls lurking in this old city.

A little research proved that Montreal is indeed a city with an ample supply of ghost stories.  Tourists can even go on a tour of haunted places in Vieux-Montréal (Old Montreal) with tour guides dressed as famous fantômes.   I didn’t go on the tour, but in my three days of rambling around the city I did pass by several of the places where fantômes are frequently  sighted. 

Notre Dame Basilica, Vieux-Montréal
Notre Dame Basilica, Vieux-Montréal

From what I read on Haunted North America, les fantômes de Montréal represent just about every era in the city’s rich history.  The area in the St. Lawrence valley known today as Montreal was  inhabited by the Algoquinto, Huron, and Iroquois peoples at least 2,000 years ago.  Since at least the 14th century, humans have lived in a population center near the modest (only 780 feet tall)  mountain with the grand name Mont-Royal.   Previously, it was called Hochelega by the Saint Lawrence Iroquoians who had established a good-sized village here at least two centuries before the French  explorer Jacques Cartier first visited  the area in 1535.  The city allegedly gained the name “Montreal”  in 1556, when geographer Giovanni Battista Ramusio wrote the Italian “Monte Real” instead of the French “Mont-Royal” on his map of Hochelaga.

In 1611, Samuel de Champlain established a fur trading post here and Montreal soon became a center for the fur trade and base for French exploration in North America .   Quebec was officially established as a French colony on May 17, 1642, with  Paul Chomedey de Maisonneuve as governor.

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Statues of French colonial leaders, Place d’Armes, Vieux-Montréal

Things were pretty rough in Nouvelle-France (New France) in those days.   Vieux-Montréal,  the oldest part of the city near the port,  was the scene of numerous human rights abuses, including public hangings and torture.  People have reported seeing numerous apparitions covered with burn and whip marks in this part of the city.   Along the cobblestoned Rue Saint-Paul, figures have been seen disappearing in upstairs windows.  There is another story of a blonde woman who was murdered and now wanders the streets. Sometimes people in the area report a general feeling of unease, a feeling of being watched – even in broad daylight.

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Place Vacquelin and Place Jacques-Cartier

On Saturday morning, we walked up Avenue du Parc from downtown on our way to the Plateau neighborhood in search of the infamous Montreal bagels.  We walked past Parc Jeanne-Mance, which is bordered on the east side by Avenue deL’Espanade.  I read later that the apparition of a  French soldier wearing a cape is often seen walking here.   Montreal saw a lot of military action in the 1750s and 60s during La guerre de la Conquête (“The War of Conquest”).  At least that is what most French Canadians call it; officially in Canada, it is the “Seven Years War” or the “Anglo-French rivalry” .  In United States history, however, the conflict is referred to as the “French and Indian War”.   Whatever you call it, this particular French soldier was likely a victim.  He reportedly has a limp (and some say they have seen him with a cane) as he walks down Ave de L’Esplanade from Rue Rachel towards Avenue Duluth.  Sometimes, he is seen entering a building across the street from the park.  On this particular drizzly Saturday morning, however, I saw nothing in the park more creepy than some kids playing football (American football, that is, not soccer.)

Twice we walked past the severe, grey stone Hôpital Royal Victoria.   France lost the war with England, of course, ceding control over all its territory east of the Mississippi River in the1763  Treaty of Paris.  Quebec was under British control until 1867, when all of Canada became a self-governing British colony.   “The Dominion of Canada” created a unified federation of the former British and French colonies.   Canada and England maintained close ties (Canada did not become an independent country until 1982!), so it is no surprise that the hospital built in 1893 was named after the British queen Victoria.  The “Royal Vic” definitely looks like the kind of place that would have its own fair share of ghosts.  Indeed, hospital patients, visitors and staff have reported seeing ghosts of former patients and hearing disembodied footsteps and voices.   Odd occurrences have also been reported, things  like buzzers and lights going on and off in empty rooms.

Mont-Royal Cemetery is one of the largest cemeteries in North America.   Divided into three sections (Mont-Royal, Cote-Des-Neiges and Notre Dame), several hundred thousand graves are in a beautiful, serene park.  The Mont-Royal section is said to be the most active, with ghosts (including a famous Algonquin warrior) reportedly wandering about in the cemetery.  There is a popular scenic overlook on the serpentine road near the top of Mont-Royal.   Many people have reported seeing ghostly apparitions  standing at the edge of the cemetery grounds on the high rock cliffs above the overlook.   Perhaps, like me and the other tourists,  they are just enjoying the view of  the city below.  No ghosts were in evidence, however, on the sunny Sunday morning that  I rode my bike past the cemetery on my way to the top of Mont-Royal.

Later that day, we passed McGill University on our way to Montreal’s Musee des Beaux-Artes.   McGill reportedly has more than one ghost, including a young boy who has been known to interact with students.  Apparently, there is a bulletin board on campus where people can share information about where they have spotted the McGill University Ghost(s).

Although I did not experience any eerie paranormal activity during my recent visit, it was still fun to read about les fantômes de Montréal and to take a few creepy photos.   (This post is also a response to the Weekly Photo Challenge: Eerie.)

Sunset in Zanzibar

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Sunset over the Indian Ocean in Stone Town, Zanzibar

This post is a response to Weekly Photo Challenge: Horizon.

Beyond The Horizon

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Farmland near Nerstrand, Minnesota
October, 2013

Recently, our family took a daytrip down to visit some friends who live near the town of Nerstrand, MN about an hour outside of the Twin Cities.  When I first moved to Minnesota, I was struck by the fact that people here always give you directions in north, south, east or west – as in “Go two blocks north and then turn west”.  I had never before used the cardinal directions as a point of reference, so this was confusing to me at first.  But I soon discovered that it makes sense in a Plains state where you can actually see the horizon.  It becomes only natural to use the horizon and the sun’s relation to it as a frame of reference, a way of understanding the natural order of the world.  When I took this picture, for example, I knew that I was facing north because it was afternoon and the sun was clearly in the west.

We happened to visit the country on a glorious fall day.  The kids rode the horses (and pony) through the fields and down the road to an old graveyard that is populated by German and Norwegian immigrants to the area who settled here beginning in the 1850s.  Some of the gravestones were so old that the carved names and dates had been all but erased by the elements.  Others were propped against a birch tree. Having lost all connection to the graves that they once marked, they now appeared to gaze out beyond trees and fields and farms to whatever lies beyond the horizon.

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Gravestones in Wheeling (German) Evangelical Cemetary
Nerstrand, MN

It reminded me of the melancholy, nostalgic-sounding song Beyond The Horizon by Minnesota’s own Bob Dylan.

Beyond The Horizon

by Bob Dylan

Beyond the horizon, behind the sun
At the end of the rainbow life has only begun
In the long hours of twilight ‘neath the stardust above
Beyond the horizon it is easy to love

My wretched heart’s pounding
I felt an angel’s kiss
My memories are drowning
In mortal bliss

Beyond the horizon, in the Springtime or Fall
Love waits forever for one and for all

Beyond the horizon across the divide
‘Round about midnight, we’ll be on the same side
Down in the valley the water runs cold
Beyond the horizon someone prayed for your soul

I’m touched with desire
What don’t I do?
I’ll throw the logs on the fire
I’ll build my world around you

Beyond the horizon, at the end of the game
Every step that you take, I’m walking the same

Beyond the horizon the night winds blow
The theme of a melody from many moons ago
The bells of St. Mary, how sweetly they chime
Beyond the horizon I found you just in time

It’s dark and it’s dreary
I ponder in vain
I’m weakened, I’m weary
My repentance is plain

Beyond the horizon o’er the treacherous sea
I still can’t believe that you’ve set aside your love for me

Beyond the horizon, ‘neath crimson skies
In the soft light of morning I’ll follow you with my eyes
Through countries and kingdoms and temples of stone
Beyond the horizon right down to the bone

It’s late in the season
Never knew, never cared
Whatever the reason
Someone’s life has been spared

Beyond the horizon the sky is so blue
I’ve got more than a lifetime to live lovin’ you

(If you don’t know the tune, you can listen here)

This post is a response to Weekly Photo Challenge: Horizon.

 

The Hue of You: Choose a Job You Love

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Open family law case files at the Legal and Human Rights Centre in
Dar es Salaam, Tanzania

I’m sharing this photo of hundreds of open family law case files at  at the Legal and Human Rights Centre in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania in response to the Weekly Photo Challenge: The Hue of You.  Two LHRC attorneys are responsible for all of these open cases.

The work of a human rights warrior can be hard, but it is definitely ALWAYS interesting – and colorful!

“Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life.”

― Confucius

In the Land of Sky Blue Waters

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… a glimpse of the infinite.

Silent Sunday 10.6.13

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Silent Sunday. One photo. No words.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Saturated

Woman harvesting rice in the Kathmandu Valley, Nepal
Woman harvesting rice in the Kathmandu Valley, Nepal

I took this photo last week in the Kathmandu Valley, near the village of Palubari, in Nepal.  The monsoon season has just ended in Nepal, so the colors of the vegetation are especially vibrant right now.  And the people of Nepal are always vibrant, both in their personalities and their dress.

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Palubari took its name for the ginger that was once grown here, but this area in the eastern end of the Kathmandu Valley is fertile enough to grow rice, maize (corn), wheat, potatoes and many other vegetable crops.

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The corn crops have been harvested already, the cobs and kernels drying in the sun along the roads that run through the valley.

Corn drying in the sun.
Corn drying in the sun.

Now the rice crop must be brought in.  All the harvesting is done by hand (you can see the scythe in the hand of the woman in the first picture).  It is hard, labor intensive work and it must all be done before the major festivals next month of Dashain and Tihar.

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This post is a response to the Weekly Photo Challenge: Saturated.